


Medicinal

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Comfort, Episode Tag, Fic, Gen, Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth decides Neal needs a hug.</p><p>Episode tag for 1.13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medicinal

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sage for beta. &lt;3

Neal took a shower and fixed himself something to eat. Mozzie was out, hunting down a Victorian snuffbox for reasons unexplained, and June was babysitting Samantha, so Neal didn't have to lie to anyone about why his hands were shaking. It was delayed shock, that was all. A cup of coffee, and he'd be fine. He shoved his fists in his pockets and waited for the kettle to boil.

The tracker squatted on the dining table, somewhere between benign and benevolent. Peter hadn't asked anyone to put it on him, and Neal couldn't stomach doing it himself. If Peter cared so much, then he should've done it. In the meantime, Neal was nursing some airy fantasies about carrying the damned thing in his pocket—or maybe investing in a Gucci shoulder bag, if it messed with the lines of his suits too much—so he could be tracked only when he wanted to be.

It'd certainly make working with Alex easier.

Peter would never go for that, of course. He'd check tomorrow morning. He'd say, "Show me," just like he had outside the prison. For now, though, Neal's ankle felt light and fragile, as if he might float up to the ceiling.

There was a knock on the door, and Neal froze, then sighed. He'd wanted company, but now the prospect of polite conversation made him rub his face. The knock came again, and he went to answer it.

It was Elizabeth Burke, looking up at him with big, serious eyes, her hair loose around her shoulders. The one brunette in his life who wasn't connected to the music box.

"Elizabeth," said Neal. "What's wrong?"

Her mouth softened. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." He waved her inside, looked out into the hallway as if Peter might be lurking there, either accompanying Elizabeth or following her. But there was no sign of him, so Neal closed the door. "I'm just making coffee."

She nodded. "It's been a long twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, I missed my caffeine fix this morning." He saw her glance at the tracker on the table, but she didn't comment on it. Instead she stood back and studied him.

He smiled winningly, refusing to be self-conscious about his sweatpants and t-shirt, or his shower-damp hair. She'd dropped in unannounced, and he was in no state to play the suave sophisticate for her. But she didn't tease him.

"Your hands are shaking," she said. "Shhh. Sit down. I'll finish making the coffee."

Startled into obedience, he plunked himself down in a dining chair, pushed the tracker aside so he didn't have to look at it and watched as she made herself at home in his kitchenette, setting the French press on the counter and rescuing the kettle when it started to whistle. Her movements were quick and easy, and her presence surprisingly soothing.

He waited until she sat down opposite him and slid a richly scented mug across the table. "What can I do for you, Elizabeth?"

The surface of the coffee shimmered when he raised the mug to his lips—his hands still unsteady. He wasn't sure he could manage any more heroics today, but he'd hear her out before he told her that. Maybe Mozzie could help.

"You can reassure me that you're okay," said Elizabeth, meeting his gaze squarely.

He frowned. "Did Peter send you?"

The corners of Elizabeth's mouth tucked down in a half-smile. "Peter can be a little oblivious sometimes to the fact that not everyone has someone to go home to."

"I do all right," said Neal, automatically, and it was true. Under normal circumstances, June would have brought him home-baked cookies by now, and Mozzie would be here, demonstrating his relief at Neal's survival by berating him for having put himself in harm's way in the first place.

Elizabeth's smile faded. She folded her hands around her mug and leaned forward. "Neal, from what I heard, you were kidnapped, tasered, threatened and made responsible for a girl's life."

"Tased twice," said Neal.

"Exactly. You're not trained for this, you keep getting caught in the firing line, and Peter said you didn't even stick around to get checked over by an EMT this afternoon." She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Any normal person in your position would—"

"Run?" Neal took a mouthful of coffee and sat back. "It's okay, Elizabeth. You can tell your husband I'm not going anywhere."

To Elizabeth's credit, she didn't look at the tracker. She sighed and spread her hands on the table. "Need a hug," she said. "Anyone in your position would need a hug."

Neal blinked. "Uh." He gathered his wits. "Honestly, I'm fine—"

She ignored him. "I'm guessing you and Moz don't have—"

"That kind of relationship? Not so much, no." Neal grinned at the thought, noticing as he did how unfamiliar it felt, as if his face were made of rubber. Usually, smiles came easily. Must be the shock. He took another mouthful of coffee and raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth. "So, what exactly are you proposing?"

She shook her head wryly. "This is not a come on, my dear, and you know it. It's just an offer, pure and simple."

The funny thing was that she meant it. In Elizabeth Burke's world, a hug could be both pure and simple. Neal's hard-won independence wavered in the face of such a challenge. He could play that game and win.

"I'll take it," he said.

She eyed him sternly. "You're smirking."

"Sorry." He wiped his expression clean. "Better?"

Elizabeth tilted her head and considered. "Now you look like a Stepford con-artist-slash-FBI-consultant, but I suppose I can put that down to the rigors of the day." She stood up. "Come here, then."

Neal obediently stood up and went over to her. There was an awkward moment as they negotiated whose arms would go where, and then she was holding him, or he was holding her. It was a little strange, but they knew each other well enough after all these months that it didn't really matter that it was strange, and Neal was too tired to analyze it further.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him without wanting something, nor the last time he'd hugged anyone but Kate without playing one angle or another. This wasn't like that. It was medicinal. Elizabeth pressed against him and rubbed his back, wholly unsuggestively, and her murmurs were both kind and steadying.

He kept expecting her to pull away, to announce that his time was up, but she didn't. She stayed there, her head on his shoulder, and let him draw strength from her, his body slowly relaxing, the shakes giving way to a better kind of exhaustion. It was he who ended it, when he shifted against her and realized he was getting turned on.

"I—" He stepped back at once, his hands in the air. "Sorry."

She smiled without judgment—"Now I know you're feeling better."—and stepped away, apparently unconcerned. But when she reached for her coffee, she bent so that her hair fell across her face, and it didn't completely hide her blush.

"Elizabeth—"

"It's fine, Neal." Her tone brooked no argument. "Now, have you eaten? Is there anything else you need?"

He took a deep breath. Even if Peter hadn't sent her, the fact was that she was here. "You could fasten my tracker."

Her eyes widened. In truth, he could have done it himself, but the catch was awkward to fasten from above, and more than that, when he'd contemplated putting it on earlier, he hadn't been able to bring himself to touch the thing. It was one thing to be fettered against his will, by people who needed his help—that at least made him feel wanted. It was another thing entirely to shackle himself, trusting that Peter would be pleased to see him when he turned up at the office the next morning.

If Elizabeth saw any of this on his face, she didn't show it. "Of course," she said, picking up the tracker. Her eyebrows went up. "It's heavier than I expected."

Neal grinned with real amusement. "You have no idea."

He put his bare foot on her pulled-out chair, raised the cuff of his sweatpants and told her how to clasp it, and how much to tighten it.

"Is that okay?" She slid one finger under the plastic with a doubtful expression. "It's not too tight?"

"I don't think my foot will drop off," said Neal, fighting awareness. She was a beautiful woman, touching his skin, standing close enough that he could feel her body heat, but he didn't want to be attracted to her. She was offering him a rare gift—comfort without strings and complications—and besides, Peter would kill him if he so much as—

She straightened and moved back. "I think it's time I was going," she said, a little breathlessly, hooking her bag onto her shoulder.

He nodded and followed her to the door, keeping a safe distance.

"Take care of yourself, Neal," she told him. "Remember that there are people who care about you. And if you need anything—"

"I know." He met her gaze and let her see his gratitude, and that he had no intention of pushing for more. "Thank you."

Her smile was crooked and sincere. "I'll tell Peter you're all right." She patted his shoulder. "Oh, and tell Moz I want to have words with him—leaving you on your own after a case like this one! What was he thinking?"

Neal laughed. "I'll tell him. Good night, Elizabeth."

She gave him one last smile and turned away, and he watched her as far as the top of the stairs before he shut his door and turned back to his empty room and the two half-drunk mugs of coffee on the table.

 

END


End file.
